Tyler moves before I even realize it, his arms wrap around me tightly. Firm. Real. And for a second, I hate myself for notbeing able to use my voice with him. But his hold doesn’t shake, doesn’t loosen.
I press my forehead into his shoulder, begging the universe and my body not to succumb to the violent way my body wants to give up and cry. By some miracle, it listens, and I swallow the tears down, burying them, just like how I’ve been doing for years.
Tyler rests his chin gently on my head, arms still firm around my back.
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” he whispers.
I bit my lips.
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he says again, slower this time. “You deserve to feel cared for.”
My chest collapses at that—the truth of it.
“I know you,” he continues, voice barely louder than the wind. “You don’t let people in easily. So if you let him in, it’s because some part of you needed it. Wanted it.”
I pull away gently, my eyes red, he touches my arm to look at him, and signs,
“You deserve every good thing life has to offer, Lucas. And you’re still my best friend and favorite person in this entire world.”
I smile at him, “You’re my favorite person, too.”
“Damn right I am,” he says gleefully, “now let’s enjoy our picnic, we have been wanting this for months.”
TWENTY
LUCAS
It’s Wednesday, and Alexander hasn’t touched me since last Friday.
Not a brush of his fingers. Not a kiss. Only the lingering look he always gives me that settles over me like smoke, thick and impossible to ignore.
It’s not like I expect him to touch me every day… I mean, I’m not his boyfriend or anything. I don’t even know what I am to him. And it’s not like I care.
Except I do. God, I do.
The truth is ever since Monday, I haven’t used my voice with him, and I think I have been a little distant or maybe not, it’s just I don’t know how to process what this is with us, and having him close to me and wanting him to touch me all the time makes me a little angry, I should not like it, I should not want him.
But then Alex is acting distant too, and I don’t know why it’s getting to me.
I’m being pathetic, I know, sue me, but it’s the first time in my entire life I’ve felt this drawn to anyone like this after being in my shell for years.
Alex is… Alex. Stoic, unreadable, cold in a way that isn’t cruel but distant—like he doesn’t know how to be soft unless he’s touching me. He’s always been like that, and I should be used toit by now. But I’m not. Not after we’ve kissed. Not after his hands on my waist, his mouth on my throat, and the sound of his name breaking out of me like I’d never spoken it before.
And now we’re back to this—
Me, in his house, teaching him ASL. Him, sitting across from me like nothing ever happened. No mention of the kisses. The tension. The way I’d clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that keeps trying to swallow me whole.
And whose fault is that, Lucas?
I know that the first time he kissed me I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, but we have done more than kisses now, so much more that I came just from grinding into him.
But now it’s the same routine we had before the kiss: I come over. We do two to three hours of ASL. He offers dinner, then he tells me the driver’s waiting downstairs, and I go home, stomach in knots, wondering what the hell I mean to him.
I look up at him now as he finishes signing a complete sentence—fluid, almost perfect. He holds my gaze like he always does, his blue eyes burning with a kind of restrained intensity I don’t understand. He tilts his head, silently asking if he got it right.
I nod.
My phone timer rings out, the sharp sound slices through the air between us. I turn it off, and the silence that follows is heavy. I exhale, trying not to let it show on my face—how tired I am of pretending I’m fine. I want to ask him why he’s acting like nothing happened, why he hasn’t touched me. He looked at me like he wanted to ruin me, only to leave me untouched for days, like I imagined it all.
